


I Saw Andraste Kissing...

by AndrastesKnickerweasle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Let It Glow Gift Exchange, M/M, Pining, Romance, Satinalia, Thedas!Krampus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrastesKnickerweasle/pseuds/AndrastesKnickerweasle
Summary: Fenris and Anders foolishly agree to do Merrill a favor for the elves in the Kirkwall Alienage one fateful Satinalia.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ContreParry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/gifts).



> Two weeks late but just in time for Christmas, here is my Let it Glow fic for my chosen victim, ContreParry! They requested Fenders and that the writer simply have fun with the piece. Well, suffice it to say I had a blast with this concept. It's silly and cheesy sugary sweet holiday fluff, and I really hope you like it!

Red?  There was definitely red in there, but not nearly so much as Aveline’s ginger hair.  Just fleeting glimmers of auburn when the mage turned just so, illuminated by dancing lamplight flame before disappearing back into the field of gold atop his head.  Though it wasn’t quite golden either, at least, not the sort of gold that Anders was currently losing rapidly in their weekly diamondback game.  Rather, the natural golden glow of healthy wheat stalks ready for harvest.  Fenris had once seen such a crop as he trotted along side Danarius’ mount on the journey to his summer villa.  Clouds overhead dappled the land, painting spots of caramel brown amidst gold so sunshine bright it nearly hurt to look at, the colors shifting and flowing together as the wind turned land to sea with great rolling waves of wheat.  Not entirely red, but not entirely gold… Fenris picked up a coin to ante… copper perhaps?  No, that wasn’t quite right either…

“You plan on anteing with that coin or were you just going to brood it into submission?” 

Fenris spared an exasperated glare for the smug dwarf before tossing his coin into the pile.   He huffed and stared down resolutely at his diamondback hand.  It wasn’t a bad hand, and if he managed to concentrate on the _game_ rather than the enigma of Anders’ ever shifting hair color, or the way his long lightly freckled fingers fiddled with his cards in a way that was half graceful and half anxious, or how the corner of his eyes crinkled just so when he smiled in earnest…  Vishante kaffas this was getting ridiculous.

“I think Anders has already been brooded into submission.”  Donnic commented with a worried sideways glance at the haggard mage where he slumped, his head buried on his folded arms atop the table as he groaned softly.

“No, my terrible cards have done that quite thoroughly.”  Came a grumbled reply from beneath the pile of feathers and despair.  “I don’t know why I keep coming to give you lot my coin.”

Varric patted his back and pressed a third sandwich into the mage’s hand.  Anders looked up enough to give the dwarf a grin.  “Ah yes, now I remember.  Varric, did I ever mention you’re my favorite?”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed.  With the speed more becoming of a rogue than a warrior, he snatched an orange from their assorted pile of snacks and lobbed it at the mage’s face.  To Anders’ credit, he caught it, though the affronted look he threw back was hardly ideal.  “You are too skinny mage.”  Fenris groused, frowning at how much his concern had once again managed to come out sounding like censure.

“So sorry my skinny arse offends your sensibilities Serah Chiseled Abs.”  Anders nearly winced at how much his snark had sounded suspiciously like flirting.

A flush blossomed on the tips of Fenris’ ears, Anders hastily looked away to begin intently peeling his orange, and everyone pretended to not have noticed the exchange as they got on with the game.  Or they _would_ have gotten on with it, if not for the sudden racket coming from the entry hall.  Fenris’ markings flared as he tensed, the soft blue glow illuminating the other three while they reached to grasp their weapons where they lay propped beside them.

“Fenris?  Are you home?  Fenri- eeek!”  The dry clacking of bones accompanied her shrill squeak, “Oh, it’s just one of the corpses.  Hello there!  That’s a very nice mushroom you’ve got growing out of your eye…” 

Fenris groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, the lyrium light flickering out abruptly.  “Who invited the witch?”

“And violate our sacred man time?!  You offend me!”  Varric gasped, ever the showman, his hand held to his hairy chest in mock indignation.

Anders shrugged, clearly more interested in staring at his cards until they somehow became a better hand.  “Wasn’t me.” 

Donnic joined in the collective shrugging when eyes turned to him.  It soon became a moot point when more ominous clattering sounded from the entrance hall.

“Are you home?  I’m sorry to bother you- ach!  Oh dear- Fenris?  I hope you didn’t like that vase by the stairs too much…”

“Venhedis…” Fenris sighed, resigned to his fate, and cleared his throat, “We are up here.”

“Oh good, you _are_ home!”  She chirped cheerfully.  The rickety stairs protested but thankfully held as the elven mage bounded up to Fenris’ room.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and I-“ Her large moss green eyes blinked around the doorframe at the gathered company, “Are you having a party Fenris?”

“No, we are merely playing cards, or we _were_ before we were interrupted.”  He hoped his glare might dissuade her from _continuing_ to interrupt.

“Oh that’s wonderful!  Can I play too?!” 

No such luck.  Fenris sighed and dealt her in.  After a good three hands of diamondback, and losing a good deal more coin than he would have liked to the crafty card shark witch, Fenris decided enough really was enough.  “Merrill, you said you were looking for me… was there any particular _reason_?”

“You sure it wasn’t for your sparkling personality?”  Anders muttered from behind his no doubt abysmal hand, sarcasm dripping from every word.  The number of barbs he threw out seemed to bare a direct correlation with how much he was losing, and he was losing badly. 

“And here she also gets to bear witness to your cutting wit.  Her cup truly runnith over.”  Fenris dryly replied, gratified when he was rewarded with the slightest twitch of the mage’s lips.  Over the course of their weekly diamondback nights, Fenris had learned that the majority of the mage’s teasing was simply that, teasing.  Many of the mage’s comments toward himself and others that Fenris had before interpreted as condescension or ridicule had in fact been Anders’ way of playing.  It took careful study of the mage’s interactions with Varric, for whom navigating social situations came naturally, to realize this.  Once he had however, it had allowed him to put aside his initial defensive reaction and start to get to know the mage.  That he found himself _liking_ what he found in their tentative friendship, that was an entirely new problem, one he was far less certain how to solve.  Whether his slowly building and increasingly frustrating attraction to Anders was better or worse than the constant bickering remained to be seen.

“I was having so much fun I nearly forgot!”  She smiled sweetly over her glittering pile of winnings.  The table collectively groaned at the much lighter state of their purses.  “Fenris, I need your help!”

“No.”

“Oh please Fenris, it would mean so much-“

“No.”

“But the children-“

“N-“

“What children?”  That had piqued Anders’ interest, his sullen expression completely vanishing as he looked at Merrill intently.  Fenris could have sworn his warm honey colored eyes had flashed lightening blue for a split second.

Fenris cleared his throat and answered with feigned indifference, “So what is it that you want exactly?”

“Oh thank you Fenris!  I knew you’d help!”

His emerald eyes widened in alarm, “I did not say I-“

“You see, for the past 2 years I’ve organized the Satinalia festivities for the Alienage, and it was going just wonderfully!  We’ve been working on carving little halla and making dolls for weeks, and we’ve got fruit and nuts to give them too!  Oh my, with this money I can buy some meat for the feast!  _Real_ meat!”  Varric sighed, all hopes of winning back his gold utterly dashed.  Forever oblivious, Merrill continued on excitedly, “So you see everything is all set up, but this morning Ladahlen came down with a fever!”

“Ah… sorry, but, wouldn’t I be the one to help with that?  Not to speak ill of Fenris’ nursemaid skills…”  Anders asked, seemingly just as confused as the rest of them by Merrill’s incoherent train of thought.

“For once I agree with the mage.  What does this have to do with needing my help?”

Merrill blinked at him.  “Why, to play the Dread Wolf of course.”  The way she said it almost seemed as though she thought what she said had made perfect sense.

“…come again?”

“Ladahlen was going to play the Dread Wolf, but now that he’s sick, oh and don’t worry Anders I gave him a potion and some herbs for tea and his wife is watching over him,” Anders seemed satisfied by the treatment and nodded for her to continue, “…Anyhow with him sick we need someone to play the Dread Wolf for the children!”

“…No.”  Fenris frowned to see a look of disapproval flash across Anders’ features.  He sighed.  “What… what would it entail?”

“Ha!  _Tail_!  Because, you know, the Dread Wolf’s tail-”  Merrill’s giggling promptly dried up at Fenris glare, “It wouldn’t be much work!  You’d just wear a costume and show up for the children, ask them if they’ve been naughty, tell them you’ll play tricks on them if their parents tell you they haven’t been good.  It will be fun!”

Fenris’ frown only deepened.  “It sounds as though I would be there to frighten these children you are so worried about.”

“Oh no!  Well, yes a bit, but it’s fun for the children!  Their parents always say that they were nice, so the Dread Wolf never gets to play his tricks, and the Lady Andraste gives them presents instead!”

“What?!”  Anders interjected, “Surely that’s not how the Dalish celebrate Satinalia?”

Merrill looked down to fiddle with a sovereign, a melancholy look in her eyes.  “No, no of course not.  We celebrate the shortest day of the year as the day Elgar'nan defeated his father the Sun, for he is so shamed he won’t show his face any longer than he has to on the solstice.  We have wrestling matches and contests of sword and bow in his honor during the day, and at night we light lanterns and tell stories, and we watch the stars, the Sun’s lifeblood spilled in the battle.” 

“Then where does the Dread Wolf fit in?”  Varric asked as he shifted forward in interest, the storyteller eager for a tale he hadn’t heard.

“He doesn’t in the Dalish celebration, but when the humans took over and took elves as slaves, they tried to convert them to Andrasteism...” 

“So the Chantry taught impressionable children that their elven God was a villain and Andraste brought them presents!?”  Anders scoffed, his fist tightening.

She sighed and smiled sadly, “I tried to talk them into letting me show them a Dalish Satinalia, but some were afraid of backlash from the humans, and most had grown up with these traditions and wanted their children to have them as well.  You can’t blame them for wanting their children to share the same fond memories of Satinalia they had, even if they’ve got it just a bit wrong.”

And there it was, the sense of Dalish superiority always just below the surface of Merrill’s saccharine smiles.  Fenris huffed and looked away to study the flames dancing merrily in the hearth beside their game table.  ‘Just a bit wrong’.  There was nothing wrong with a downtrodden people clutching to any shred of hope within their reach.  The elven Gods cared just as much for the plight of elves as the Maker and Andraste, so what did it matter who they chose to shout out for into the void?  Regardless, they would not receive an answer.  He looked back at his companions.  Varric looked intrigued, Donnic faintly confused, Merrill nearly bubbling over with hope, and Anders… he looked nearly as conflicted as Fenris felt. 

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at the witch, “Why can’t _you_ just do it?”

“I’ll be busy helping get the feast ready!” 

“Those poor people.”  Anders muttered under his breath.  Fenris had to smother a laugh, having tried Merrill’s attempts at cooking and agreeing wholeheartedly with the mage’s assessment.

“And… there is no one else that could do this?”  He cursed himself as he realized he was seriously considering this hair-brained scheme.

Merrill shook her head frantically.  “Oh no, everyone else already has a job during the festivities, and no Dalish would ever agree to participate in a Shemlin created custom.  Please Fenris!  The children will be so disappointed if there’s no Dread Wolf!”

Curse her and her trembling lip, for now it seemed that Varric and Donnic were in her corner, staring him down with great doe eyes.  In the end however, it was the little furrow of concern in Anders’ brow that did him in.  “Fine.”

To Fenris’ horror, Merrill nearly toppled the table in her haste to hug him.  He grimaced and shook her off as quickly as possible.  “So, who is to play Andraste?”  He asked warily as he attempted to straighten his tunic.

“Oh no!”  She gasped and placed her hand to her chest.  “I was so worried about finding a replacement for the Dread Wolf I completely forgot about Andraste!”

Varric burst out laughing.  “You’re telling me you planned everything but the star of the show?!”

Merrill groaned miserably and sung back into her chair.  “No, Aveline was going to play her, but with her gone with Hawke, Isabela and Sebastian to the coast… oh by the Dread Wolf what am I going to do?  Satinalia is tomorrow!”

Donnic awkwardly patted her on the back.  “It’s alright, we’ll think of something.  Now, what do we need?  Someone beautiful, tall, with a noble bearing, and red hair-“

“Or blonde, a lot of the pictures show her as…” Varric blinked, his gaze shifting slowly around the table, “…blonde.”

Anders rolled his eyes and started ticking off on his fingers, “Martyr complex, someone who looks nice by stakefire light, nice hips…”

“I’d say you’re hired.”  Fenris flushed crimson as the words slipped out.

“Perky ti- what?!”

Varric thoughtfully stroked his chin.  “You know, he’s got a point Blondie.  Hair’s a little short, but…” he reached up to turn the bewildered mage’s head to view his profile.  “I’d call that a noble profile, wouldn’t you?”

Merrill clapped her hands together in triumph.  “Oh yes, very noble!”

“And heroic.”  Donnic said, hiding a snicker behind his hand.

“And a _man_ , in case you all failed to notice!”  The mage blustered, his face heating as he swatted the dwarf’s hand away.

“The last time I checked, I am not an elven God, does that mean I can bow out as well?”  Fenris drawled, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s alright Anders!  They’re just children, they won’t notice as long as you have presents for them!  Besides, Aveline was going to play her, and Isabela calls her Lady Manhands-“

“Hey!”  Donnic exclaimed with a deep frown.  “My treasure is all woman!”

“Just like Anders will be!”  Varric said with his patented shit eating grin.  “Or… don’t you _care_ about those poor elven children?”

“I- that’s not- I didn’t say-“  His words cut off abruptly as his eyes glazed over in the faraway look he always got when he spoke to his demon.  The table’s occupants waited with varying degrees of anticipation for the mage to finish mumbling to himself.  Fenris calmly took a sip of wine, though his frame was tense as a bow string as he waited for Anders’ decision.  Finally, Anders’ eyes cleared and he promptly slumped to lay his head upon the table with a groan.  “Varric… you are no longer my favorite.”

Merrill let out a shrill squeak of excitement.  “Does that mean-“

“Yes yes, just call me Lady Pushover.”  He grumbled into the table.

“Oh thank you thank you!”  The mage also received a hug, which he accepted with slightly more grace than Fenris had.  They both received instructions to arrive at Merrill’s bright and early tomorrow morning, where she would have their costumes (and in Anders’ case, makeup) ready.  Mission accomplished, the Dalish elf packed up her winnings and bounded into the night with a spring in her step.  Donnic, ever the gentleman, seemed to worry for their resident blood mage’s safety while carrying so much coin and followed her out to see her home, Varric following soon after once it was clear there was no more coin to be had.

Fenris was pleased to see Anders had not moved.  He poured him his customary glass of cider and placed it on a small table beside a plush chair near the fire.  Roused by the sound of glass settling on wood, the mage drug himself out of his sprawl and crossed the room to join him.  He tipped his glass and smiled softly at him, the smile that the mage only ever let him see on diamondback nights once everyone had gone.  The smile meant only for Fenris.

This had become their private ritual after the weekly diamondback game let out, two former rivals engaged in a tense truce the first night Fenris had offered to share his fireplace with the mage on a particularly rainy night.  Anders had been understandably wary of his sudden generosity, but ultimately the biting winds and lingering sickly damp of Darktown had seemed the lesser of two evils.  Fenris was hardly certain why he had reached out that first time, though he suspected the fair amount of wine he’d had to be a large culprit… his loneliness an even larger one.  Thankfully for them both Anders had stayed, and stayed and stayed, nearly every week, until the truce of rivals became the warmth of good company… of friendship.

It was easier to be Anders’ friend like this, when it was just the two of them away from prying eyes and obnoxious jokes about how they hadn’t managed to kill each other yet.  As if they were snarling beasts that could not control themselves to be civil in the space of a few short hours.  With ample time and some blessed peace and quiet, they had managed to fumble their way to an accord of sorts, and eventually even find some common ground to stand on.  By silent agreement the subject of mage rights was rarely brought up, nor was the cruelty of Magisters, and they instead spoke of past adventures before they had met, or exchanged silly gossip about the goings ons of their ragtag family they’d found themselves adopted into.  Sometimes Anders only stayed to have a final drink and warm his bones a bit before dashing off to work on his manifesto, other nights he stayed for hours with golden eyes alight and hands gesturing wildly as he told of his time with the Wardens or a daring Circle escape.  It was during one such night that Fenris had first made him laugh.  He had heard Anders laugh before of course, everything from dry little barks to full on belly laughter, the mage was nothing if not expressive, but it was the first time his laughter rang out in response to something _Fenris_ had said.  The elf hardly remembered what it had been, some dry remark on one of his extraordinary tales no doubt, but he would never forget how it felt to see Anders smile at him like that, warm and fond and so free, before his beautiful laughter spilled from his lips and effortlessly knocked down the lingering walls between them.  It was then that Fenris knew he was falling for Anders.

Once he realized his feelings had begun to take a turn from the platonic toward the… not so platonic, these evenings became an exquisite sort of torture he willingly inflicted on himself.  He spent the evening shifting in his seat and praying that his blushes went unnoticed as he soaked in every detail of the man across from him.  The firelight dancing on his hair was a chief fascination, the ever-shifting colors more vibrant and lovely than the flames that caused the spectacle.  Though his eyes were just as mesmerizing, when he managed to meet them.  After a lifetime of slavery, even now Fenris found it difficult to make direct eye contact with others, the impulse having long since been beaten out of him.  It seemed to bother people, none more so than himself, but Anders never commented or made a fuss whether he met his gaze or not, though his warm amber eyes crinkled at the edges whenever Fenris felt bold enough to meet them.  He found himself growing bolder by the day.

“Well,” Fenris sighed and glanced up to meet Anders’ eyes briefly, a grim smirk twitching to his lips, “We seem to have gotten ourselves into quite the predicament haven’t we?”

Fenris had expected the mage to react with more theatrical lamenting, rather than the serious frown Anders wore as he broke their gaze to look down at his hands in his lap.  “I suppose.”  He answered softly, almost absently.

“Mage, are you alright?”  Perhaps he had felt pressured.  Scratch that, of _course_ he had felt pressured.  That was how Fenris had ended up in the same mess.  “If you truly do not wish to do this, no one would force you.”

Anders blinked and looked up, his eyes clearing from the dull sheen his conversations with Justice gave them.  “Wha- no, sorry.  It’s not the crossdressing that upsets me.  I’ve done far more embarrassing things than putting on a frock and blaspheming the Maker’s Bride.”

Fenris grinned into his wine glass.  “Care to share?”  He took a sip, savoring the pleasant burn slipping down his throat.

“Hmm, perhaps another time.”  The mage replied with a wink before his frown returned.  “It’s just… you don’t want to hear about this.  I should probably go.”

The elf nearly reached out to touch him as his feathered frame shifted forward in his seat.  Fenris used the aborted motion of his outstretched hand to grip the arm rest and lean forward until their knees where nearly touching.  “Anders,” he murmured, hoping the rare use of the man’s name would stop his hasty retreat, “What makes you think I wouldn’t want to hear what’s bothering you?  We- we are… friends, are we not?”  Fenris tensed as he awaited the mage’s answer, having never voiced his sentiment quite so plainly before.  It was simply a given by now… wasn’t it?  He gulped and studied Anders’ hands where they hung between his legs, the long graceful fingers staff calloused and stained with elfroot.

“Of course we are.”  He answered confidently, that special secret smile upon his lips, and Fenris let out a breath shakier than he would have liked to admit. 

Fenris furrowed his brows and looked up once more.  “Then tell me what is troubling you my friend.”

The way his features warmed and softened at Fenris’ plea, the way his eyes crinkled and his lips parted ever so slightly in pleasant surprise, Venhedis he wanted to kiss him.  Fenris somehow admirably, or perhaps foolishly, restrained himself as Anders answered.  “It involves Justice…”

His tone held warning, and Fenris could understand why.  His status as an abomination and the demon within him was one of the things they didn’t speak of if they wished to remain civil for long.  Fenris knew that if they were to become closer in the way he dared to dreamed they would, it was a subject they would need to make peace with.  No time like the present.  “Go on then, I will not interrupt.”

“And you’ll not call him a demon, or I’m leaving.”  Fenris’ lips tightened into a thin line at that, but he ultimately nodded, determined to hear him out.  “Alright, about this whole Alienage thing, you might have noticed Justice and I talking about it.”

“We all did.”  He managed to say it relatively evenly.

Anders’ eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued on.  “Yes, well, neither of us are too happy about this whole ‘Lets replace the elves’ religion with Andrasteism using children’ plan the Chantry pulled.  I mean, I know that it was ages ago and what’s done is done, but I still feel like I’m endorsing it if I help.  But then I think about the children that are looking forward to seeing Andraste, and how it’s not their fault that their culture was robbed from them by the Chantry.  It’s a grey area that even I’m not entirely comfortable with, and Justice, he doesn’t do grey areas too well.”  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the tie holding it together fluttering behind him to let the red gold locks fall free to partially obscure his face.

Fenris swirled the wine in the glass thoughtfully.  “You know, add in the Old Gods and the Alienage’s way of worshiping reminds me of Tevinter slaves.”

“Really?”  His golden eyes shown with interest, which was infinitely preferable to the lost look they’d held before.

“Yes.  I did not spend much time among the other slaves, but at times Danarius would send me away to the slave quarters as punishment if I displeased him.”

“I would think that would be a reward.”

Fenris scoffed and clenched his fist.  “Indeed, but I was too blinded by devotion to see it.”

“When I was in solitary, completely alone in the dark aside from Mr. Wiggums visiting me… the times I looked forward to the most were when the Templars would come.  Whether it be food and water or a beating they’d brought, it hardly mattered, because it was another person.  A different sight, sound, smell in the endless darkness.”  He whispered solemnly, and Fenris knew he understood.

The elf nodded, emerald eyes flitting up to Anders’ for an instant before looking away to the fire as he continued.  “I saw the other slaves pray often, to the elven Gods and their Creators, to the Old Dragon Gods of the Magisters, to the Maker and even his heretic southern Bride.  I thought it foolish then, but now, I believe I understand why.  I had never sought religion when I was his slave, because he had become my God.  My actions, my thoughts, my very life was at his whim.  I had no hope, no desire for anything else, and I lost myself for… for a long time.”

“Fenris…” It was Anders’ turn to reach out, his effort more successful than Fenris’ had been as his hand settled carefully on the elf’s knee, offering a gentle squeeze of comfort.

Fenris’ heart nearly beat from his chest as he inched his hand closer to brush their fingers together.  “I had no faith left, but the other slaves still hoped, still prayed desperately to anyone who could listen that things might be different, might be better.  I think now that I might have envied them.”

“You broke free of him Fenris, you’re your own man now.”  Anders spoke passionately, the way he did when he talked about his blighted cause, the way he spoke about things he believed to be absolutely true. 

He did not need Anders to tell him he was free, but his declaration made him smile faintly all the same.  “True enough, yet even now, I do not know what to believe.  I want to believe what Sebastian says about the Maker, that he- that he loves me, but I have never felt it as he does.  I did not have the Dalish upbringing that Merrill did, so the elven Gods are little more than strangers to me, yet I am an elf, and who am I to say that they are wrong.  I suppose what I am saying is, however dubious the Chantry’s motives may have been, I see nothing wrong with the prayers of the downtrodden being heard by any God that might have an ear to listen.”

Anders’ features lit up in a warm smile.  “You know, I think you’re right, and though you may not like it, I think Justice does too.”  Fenris blinked at that, not sure how to feel about the demon’s, Spirit’s, _being’s_ agreement.  “I have my own beefs with the Chantry, but it’s not really about that now, it’s about giving these kids a great Alienage Satinalia.  I mean, even though the Chantry thought it up ages ago, the Dread Wolf is still part of the celebration, so the elves never really stopped worshipping their Gods either.  It’s like the Alienage found their own way that’s neither Chantry or Dalish.”

“Precisely.”

“Well that’s just _great_ Fenris, now there’ll be no talking Justice out of me making an utter fool of myself!”  He said with a good-natured laugh.

Fenris smirked and boldly squeezed his hand where it still rested heavy and warm upon his knee.  “At least you will not be alone in looking foolish.”

Anders leaned forward ever so slightly, and when Fenris glanced up to meet his eyes he found mischief twinkling in their amber depths.  “At least you get to wear a mask!  I get to wear a blighted corset!”

“It should do wonders for your figure.”  He simply couldn’t help the way his eyes swept over the mage’s lean lanky frame.

“Are you saying my figure needs wonders worked on it?!”  Anders gasped in mock affront.

Fenris’ felt his eyelids grow heavy as he leaned further forward, their foreheads nearly touching as he whispered.  “Perhaps, though not by a corset.”  Maker he’d had too much wine.

Anders gulped, his face flushed crimson, and for a single wonderful and terrifying moment, Fenris thought he might lean in to close the distance.  Instead he retreated entirely with a nervous laugh, pulling his hand away to fuss with his hair.  “I ah- I should probably get out of your way.  It’s getting late.”

Vishante kaffas what was he doing wrong!?  It wasn’t as though Anders was a stranger to flirtation!  He and Isabela could sometimes exchange such ribald expressions it made Varric blush, and the man lived in a _tavern_.  Perhaps it was simply flirtation from _him_ that the mage was opposed to?  But if that were the case, why did he agree to stay each week for what Fenris had increasingly begun to think of as ‘dates’?  Perhaps it was because he hadn’t referred to them as such?  But people didn’t do that did they?  They didn’t take their sweetheart to a show, or make them an intimate dinner and say ‘By the way, this is officially a DATE’.  It was implied!  Wasn’t it?  Fenris had to admit he didn’t rightly know, as the entire concept of dating was new to him.  He was reluctant to ask his friends for advice, as he had no plans to offer Anders three sheafs of wheat and a goat, nor did he imagine romancing him would be anything like wooing a crossbow.  Isabela didn’t date so much as carouse, asking Hawke or Sebastian was simply too embarrassing given their chaste affair (which wasn’t quite what Fenris had in mind), and even if he were inclined to ever take Merrill’s advice, he imagined she was just as clueless as himself.

So he had done the best he could by inviting Anders to stay once the others had gone.  He had listened to the other man open up, and had opened himself in return, sharing details of his past that even Hawke had not been made privy to.  They had shared drinks, and the occasional heated glance or fleeting touch, but in the end Anders always backed away, and Fenris was at a loss to figure out why.

By now Anders had risen from his seat and was patting his pockets looking for his hair tie.  Fenris grabbed the tie from the seat the mage had vacated and stood to hand it back.  They both gasped when their fingers touched.  “You aren’t bothering me mage.  In fact, my place is closer to the Alienage, if you wish to sta-“

“I- I wouldn’t want to put you out.  I’ll be fine.”  He replied abruptly as he hastily re-tied his hair and made for his staff.  “I’ll see you tomorrow…” he stopped at the doorway to the elf’s bedroom and turned back, a soft playful grin lighting up his features, “Dread Wolf.”

Fenris nodded and Anders fled down the stairs.  Once the heavy entry door swung shut, Fenris heaved a sigh and fell back on his bed.  He ran a hand through his hair as he picked the conversation apart to find the mistakes he’d made as to not repeat them the next time they spoke.  Anders had run for the hills before he could even offer that he stay, but he had smiled and teased him as he left.  He’d blushed and leaned toward him, touched his knee and welcomed Fenris’ hand on his, yet he’d spooked at the suggestive comment.  Though it was difficult, Fenris had to admit that perhaps Anders simply wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship from him.  Still, Fenris was a free man now, and with his freedom, he found he had regained his hope and was reluctant to ever let it go again.

 

* * *

 

Anders closed the heavy door to Fenris’ mansion and pressed his back against it as he caught his breath, the hot puffs of air clouding in the cool night.  Maker but he _wanted_ that man.  Did Fenris even realize what he did to him?  It had taken all of Anders’ self-control not to lean forward and kiss the elf within an inch of his life when he’d made the teasing comment about his figure.  _You’re reading too much into it.  He’s just teasing you, which is a miracle in itself.  Don’t go cocking it up by falling for him!_ Anders chastised himself, though he feared it was too little too late when it came to his feelings for the blighted elf. 

Of course Fenris was handsome, anyone could see that.  Anders had seen it the first time they’d met, though as soon as they started talking he could also see that they would never get along.  He had never been more delighted to be wrong.  It had all started with diamondback night.  Anders had it on good authority that Varric had basically had to talk the elf into inviting him to play, but once they’d started getting to know each other in the relaxed setting of their card games, they’d begun to reach an understanding.  He’d never realized how much pressure was taken off by the absence of most of their party.  It wasn’t as though they weren’t his friends, well, _most_ of them were, but they all had such differing and passionate views that it often made for a volatile mix.  Donnic was a calm and quiet man, usually only making harmless small talk about his work with the guard, or occasionally Aveline’s domestic side if they plied him with enough ale, and Varric could get along with just about anyone.  In the ensuing peace, Anders began to see another side to Fenris, one that could be kind and even affectionate to his friends, albeit in that dry gruff way of his.  He soon learned, to his great surprise and delight, that Fenris could have a wicked sense of humor.  He found himself enjoying the time spent in Fenris’ company, both during their card games, and eventually outside them as well.

You could have pushed him over with one of the many feathers on his coat when Fenris had quietly invited him to stay after cards several months ago, though he was more than happy to accept.  What followed was the blossoming of one of the most true and fulfilling friendships he’d ever had.  They shared their secrets and fears, supported one another even when they did not agree, and most surprising and wonderful of all, they made each other laugh.  He’d doubted Fenris even had the ability at times, but after the first chuckle he’d drawn from him, Anders made it his mission to hear the sound as often as possible.  Everything was going wonderfully, until one night, as Fenris stood beside the mantle bathed in glowing firelight, when Anders realized there was nothing in the world he’d like to do more than kiss him.

Falling in love had not been part of the plan, but then again it never was, and Anders had never been all that great at following plans as outlined.  And so each night once the game had ended, another more dangerous one began, wherein Anders would bet against himself how long he could hold out before blurting out his foolish feelings and ruining everything.  He may finally be able to call himself Fenris’ friend, but there was no way the former slave would ever consider being with a mage, least of all an abomination. 

Anders huffed a fogged breath and pulled his coat tight around his frame, eyeing the ominous grey clouds on the horizon as he made his way toward the elevator to Darktown.  It looked as though Kirkwall was going to have a wet Satinalia, and he would be spending it in a blighted dress. 

 

* * *

 

 

Satinalia dawned raining buckets down on Kirkwall, and in the case of Merrill’s humble home, this was true both inside and out.

Anders sputtered and spit out a mouthful of soap as the overzealous elf behind him poured another load of entirely too cold water over his head and attacked his hair with zeal.  “I swear healer, I thought I was supposed to be fixing up our blessed Lady, not washing six layers of grit off a full-grown man that ought to know better!”  The elderly elf grumbled as she violently scrubbed his hair.  For such a frail looking thing, her scullery worn hands still had plenty of strength left in them.

He glared over his shoulder, “Hey, I’d like to see you do better living in Darktown with no running water!”

“Touch me with soap that I be cleansed…”

“And tell me I have _smelled_ to Your approval?”  He drawled back, thoroughly unamused by her rendition of the Chant.

She gave him a toothy grin and slapped his back, “We might just make an Andraste out of you yet healer!”

Anders would have made a biting retort if Fenris hadn’t chosen that moment to slip through the door and witness the mage in all his glory, sitting in a large wooden tub in Merrill’s living room, knobby knees poking well above the water as an aging washer woman scrubbed him within an inch of his life.  The elf’s ears gained a faint rose tint as he stifled a laugh against his hand, disguising it as a cough, badly.  Anders put on a resigned expression and offered Fenris a jaunty wave, comforted by the fact that he could hardly look any less dignified than he currently did.  His elven helper took the opportunity to scrub fiercely at his armpit, again.

“Creators, Fenris you’re here!”  Merrill emerged from the back room that served as her bedroom, her arms so full of evergreen branches and furs she was nearly obscured entirely.  “Come in here and we’ll get your costume together!”  Fenris shot Anders a rather bewildered look, which the mage was only too happy to return with a smug grin of satisfaction.  Misery loves company after all.  Fenris shook his head and reluctantly followed the Dalish elf into her room, “This is going to be so much fu-“  The door clicked shut, sealing Fenris’ dreaded fate.

Anders strained to hear their conversation, but it was difficult to hear anything over the sloshing of water and the elf’s muttered cursing.  Finally, blessedly, she deemed him clean enough to take on the Holy Andraste’s image.  He was allowed to towel himself dry and put on smalls, and a pair of trousers he was told in no uncertain terms he would not get to keep on, and settled in for the advanced primping.  They had somehow managed to scare up a sharp straight razor, which Anders certainly didn’t have the luxury to own, and in defiance of her advanced age, the old elf’s eyes were sharp and her hand steady as she gave him the closest shave he’d likely ever had.  Anders ran his hand along his smooth cheek and jaw, marveling at how strange it felt.  Regardless, he supposed they couldn’t have a bearded Andraste. 

She dried and fluffed and combed his hair until it shown, complaining all the while that it wasn’t long enough, before finally placing Andraste’s excessively pointy circlet atop his head.  It was the same one the Alienage used every year, and of course it wasn’t made of gold as it should have been, but the bronze circlet had been well cared for and gleamed a lovely russet in the light.  They had let out the hem on the nearly threadbare white gown ‘Andraste’ wore each year, and even then it barely brushed the floor.  Fortunately, as the Maker’s Bride was a prim and proper slave revolt leader, the dress’s collar went all the way up to the neck, allowing for a bit of padding to be slipped beneath the bust, providing for Andraste’s oft mentioned tits.  As a stiff whale bone corset of Chantry crimson and gold was placed around his middle and mercilessly tightened, Anders supposed he should thank his lucky stars he was still wearing his boots, as they hadn’t been able to find a pair of women’s shoes large enough to fit him on such short notice.     

As he was descended on by rouge and kohl pencils, Anders remembered he didn’t have any lucky stars to speak of.

 

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to Anders, Fenris was having his own plight, though admittedly half of it was simply listening with any semblance of politeness to Merrill’s ceaseless rambling.

“…and I was able to buy a druffalo haunch with the money I won at diamondback last night, and some fresh vegetables too!  It will be such a treat for everyone!  Usually we just have nug, but they can be a bit scrawny can’t they, at least the ones they sell to us, but it’s hard to find a scrawny druffalo isn’t it?  Do you remember the time Hawke tried to ride that farmer’s druffalo on the way back from the coast?”  Fenris had barely opened his mouth to answer when Merrill saw fit to take care of both sides of the conversation, “No, I don’t think you went on that trip did you?  That’s a shame.  It was very funny!”

“Undoubtedly.”  Fenris muttered with a sour expression as the witch continued fliting around him, punctuating her chattered by affixing bits of wolf pelt and evergreen boughs to his armor.  “Might I ask why I need to be covered in half a forest?”  He irritably flicked a needled branch away from his cheek.

Merrill blinked and stepped away to assess her handiwork.  “Oh my, perhaps I may have overdone it.”  She held a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle at the mutinous expression worn by the pile of evergreens that stood before her.  “The evergreens make it easier for Fen’harel to hide in the forest and play his tricks, but they also represent the triumph of Elgar'nan over the Sun by still being healthy and green in the dark of winter.”

Fenris nodded, reluctantly impressed by Merrill’s wealth of knowledge about Dalish tradition.  The witch’s naïve opinions about blood magic and general doe eyed brand of cluelessness had a way of making one forget that she had once been the First to her clan’s Keeper.  Though he was not Dalish, Fenris had been given to understand that it was not a position appointed lightly or without cause.  He breathed a faint sigh of relief and stood a bit straighter as Merrill removed some of the pine burden from his shoulders.  “Fair enough.  Now you keep mentioning tricks… what am I to do if a child _has_ been naughty?”

She waved a hand dismissively and fussed at the belt that attached the Dread Wolf’s tail, the tip missing due to a run in with a Keeper’s courser, if Fenris correctly recalled the story the Dalish elf had relayed to Hawke on one of their outings.  “Oh don’t worry!  No one ever actually says their children are naughty, even if they have been!”

“Then what is the point of this Dread Wolf character?” 

“Hmmm, in a way it’s to scare them into being good the next year, but it’s also…”  She chewed on her lip as she sought the right words, “It’s fun for them too, because they get to feel like they outsmarted Fen’harel.  He comes to play tricks on them, so sure that he will find naughty children to frighten, but when they’ve all been good and Andraste gives them presents instead, the Dread Wolf leaves in defeat.”

He quirked a cynical brow, “So I am to play the fool?”

At least she had the good grace to look sheepish.  “A bit, yes.”

Fenris huffed and crossed his arms.  “Is there anything in particular I must say or do?  I have never witnessed this tradition before.”

“You don’t have to say much, just ask them if they’ve been naughty, and maybe growl a bit, or howl, howling is a nice touch.”

“Howling?”

“Well he’s a wolf isn’t he?”  She had him there.  “Ladahlen used to do a few magic tricks he knew with scarves, it was very impressive!  Oh but I don’t expect you to do anything like that.  Mostly you can just stand there looking wolfy while Anders hears their Satinalia wish.”

“Their wish?  I thought Andraste gave them presents.”  This entire thing was shaping up to be more complicated than he’d bargained for.

Her head bobbed excitedly.  “She does!  That happens at night though.  During the day the children tell Andraste their Satinalia wish, like a special prayer she can take back to the Maker for them.  It’s really very sweet… though it can be a little sad too…  Anyway, at night you both go into their houses and leave toys and fruits and candied nuts and all sorts of things!”

Fenris eye’s widened in alarm.  “We break into their houses?!”

“Don’t worry, their parents are expecting it.  They’ll even leave a bit of Laurelberry wine and little tea cakes that look like Satina!”

“What is our dignity in the face of wine and cookies?”  Fenris replied dryly as he looked down at his finished costume.  Though she had thankfully removed the bulk of the greenery, pine boughs had been attached to his waist to flow down his back tunic flaps, as well as his shoulders in a way that mimicked Anders’ ridiculous feathered coat.  Bits of fur had been affixed to his belt and vanbraces, and large paws dangled macabrely from around his ankles.  A large pelt that had no doubt previously adorned an unfortunate wolf’s belly had been wrapped around his chest plate, which was likely half aesthetic and half to keep the children pawing at him from injuring themselves on the sharp edges.  All in all he looked ridiculous.

“You look very dignified, like a proper Dread Wolf!”  She bustled around the room, grabbing a weighty looking sack and something that looked like a quiver filled with thorned branches.  “Here’s your coal, you can tie it to your belt there…” he began doing as he was told, his brows furrowed in confusion, “…and you can put the Felandaris switches on your back there-“

“What are these things for?”  He asked while swinging the Felandaris across his shoulder, the bundle settling where his sword usually rested.

“For the naughty children of course!”

His hands paused in their tying the bundle across his back.  “So the coal… because it is an unsatisfactory present for a child?”  She shook her head cheerfully.  “And the switches?”  He asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

“To give them a lashing!”

“I will not.”  He nearly tore the twine in two in his haste to remove the switches and shove then back to the witch.

Merrill held up her hands to try and refuse the bundle.  “It’s alright Fenris, you don’t really _use_ them, it’s just to make you a bit scarier!  It’s all in good fun.”

His eyes narrowed.  “I have received lashings.  Nothing about it was _fun_.  I will _not_ wear these.”

Fenris watched the understanding dawn across her features, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she simply nodded and placed the Felandaris against the wall without further argument.  Fenris nodded and tugged on the bag of coal to ensure it was tightly fastened to his belt.  “If that is all then…” he muttered, eager to escape the witch before she tried to outfit him with any more paraphernalia.  He also had to admit a certain curiosity to see how the mage was fairing with his transformation into the Maker’s Bride.

“Oh wait!  One more thing!”

He grit his teeth and nearly just walked out the door, ‘one more thing’ or no, when something was shoved over his head, throwing him into darkness.  His markings flared as he cursed the witches’ treachery, though he realized just as quickly that the object obscuring his vision was simply a mask.  Fenris huffed and adjusted the mask so the eyeholes lined up and Merrill’s room once again came into focus.  As he shifted the mask he felt along it’s hard surface, likely wood, to outline a long muzzle with lips pulled back to expose long canine teeth and a great lolling tongue.  The wooden mask completely obscured his face from his chin all the way to the top of his head where… yes, yes those were ears.  A wolf’s pelt extended from the back of the mask to drape over Fenris’ head and fall as a short cloak about the tops of his shoulders.  Correction, _now_ he looked ridiculous.

“ _Now_ you look like a proper Dread Wolf!  Grrrrr, very scaaaary!”  Merrill exclaimed, her slight frame vibrating with excitement rather than genuine fear at Fenris’ lupine appearance.

Fenris felt confident that Merrill could not see the roll of his eyes in the darkness behind the mask, which really was a shame.  “Let us get this over with.”  He said, his voice reverberating within the wooden confines of his mask, giving the words a growling quality that had Merrill squealing with glee.  Fenris fought the urge to growl in earnest and stepped out into the main room.

It was fortunate the ridiculous mask hid the fact that his jaw nearly hit the floor when he laid eyes on Anders.  As was his habit he’d yet to break, his gaze started at the mage’s feet, his familiar boots now obscured by soft waves of white fabric gently pooled on the ground.  He followed the fall of fabric up and up Anders’ long legs, and Fenris noted with some pleasure that the mage was facing away from them while speaking to the old washer woman, allowing Fenris the time to look his fill.  And look he did.  When his gaze reached the cascading fabric’s source, Fenris felt his throat run dry as he took in the vision that was Anders’ ass.  Not as ample as a woman’s would likely be, but still firm and rounder than he would have expected on the too thin mage, just the right size to cup in his hands- not that he had been expecting _anything_ in regards to Anders’ ass, or visualizing, or fantasizing… Fenris gulped as he felt a bead of sweat run down his temple.  Fasta Vass this mask was stifling.

With a minute shake of his head his eyes broke free from the mage’s behind and traveled up the zigzag line of lacing on the deep red and gold corset he wore.  As a man, and a rather skinny one at that, Anders didn’t truly have much in the way of hips, but the corset’s synched middle and gradual flare upward gave the illusion of a slim feminine waist.  His hands twitched to grasp the delicate curve of his body and pull him close.  He clenched his fists and looked up to see why Varric had given the mage his nickname.  Anders’ hair flowed smoothly over the crown of his head to fall in a gentle wave of red-gold silky strands ending a bit below his shoulders, the edges curled out playfully, as though beckoning him to reach out and touch-

Fenris coughed to hastily disguise the naked groan of want that slipped past his lips. 

Anders turned at the intrusion, a finely groomed eyebrow of russet gold quirked above his kohl rimmed amber eyes.  A grim smirk stretched across his full painted lips.  “I go to all this trouble and a cough is all I get?”  He tromped over to where Fenris seemed to have been frozen in place, his normal gait looking both ungainly and strangely erotic when paired with the flowing gown he wore.  Anders skimmed a fingertip along the pointed wolf ear atop the elf’s mask.  “I would have thought a _wolf_ whistle would be more appropriate?”  His eyes sparkled with mirth as he fished for his compliment.

“W-wolf whistle?”  Fenris croaked, cursing himself for being unsure if he had never heard the expression or simply forgotten it, as he seemed to have forgotten other vital things like his own name, or how to breathe properly as Anders leaned closer.  The familiar almost medicinal scent of herbs that always clung to the mage was now overpowered by a floral concoction that made his nose itch, though the tang of ozone that all mages seemed to possess was still there beneath the foreign perfume in a way that was surprisingly comforting.  Fenris had the absurd desire to make the mage sweat, if only to bring back the heady masculine musk that underlined it all, the scent that was uniquely Anders.  Currently Fenris seemed to be the only one sweating.  Anders looked fresh as a daisy as he coyly batted his eyes in exaggerated fashion and demonstrated a wolf whistle, no doubt in an attempt to amuse him. 

It _was_ amusing to see the mage dressed this way, but also confusing and… strangely arousing.  It was not the feminine garb that was so enticing, but rather the artifice of it all.  Fenris wanted to run his fingers over Anders’ shockingly smooth cheek and feel the truth of his strong jawline, caress the soft fabric covering his broad shoulders and feel the false fullness of the bosom that had been created above the hard planes of his chest, run his hands down the curve the corset made of his waist to grasp his narrow hips, gather the delicate fabric of the skirt and stroke the hair upon his long legs, up and up strong calves and thighs until he reached ultimate evidence of his ruse-

“Ooooh what a pair you two make!”  Merrill exclaimed with an excited clap of her hands.  Anders chuckled.  Fenris had completely forgotten she was in the room.

“Yes, what _would_ the Maker think?!”  Anders teased, a hand to his suddenly ample breast.

Fenris smirked, his nervous tension fading in the face of Anders’ easy humor about the situation.  Beneath the painted features, smooth curves and flowing skirts, it was still the same fool mage.  “You are enjoying yourself far too much mage.  If I didn’t know better, I should think you’ve done this before.”

“And just want makes you think you know better?”  Anders leveled his golden gaze at him in challenge.

Fenris was suddenly very glad for his ridiculous mask.  All the better to hide his spectacular blush.  “Shall you educate me on the subject then?”  Emerald eyes shone with keen interest between the slats in the wooden wolf’s face.

The mage’s cheeks heated, heightening the red blush already dusted upon his cheeks.  “Perhaps next diamondback night.”  He breathed, the look he gave him making it plain he meant well _after_ the game had ended.  The wolf’s snout bobbed in silent accord, Fenris’ smile hidden behind the snarling maw. 

With the matter settled, Anders’ shot an annoyed glance at the window as the drizzle outside picked up.  “Merrill,” he turned his attention to the elven mage as she buzzed about double checking that everything was ready before they made their grand appearance, “Have you got any frost runes?”

“Wha- frost runes?”  Her petite features scrunched up in concentration, “I… yes!  Yes I think I should!”  The elf began digging through drawers with gusto, “I don’t use ice spells that often you see, so I usually save them for, well for a rainy day!  I think they might be in… here?” 

As Anders gravitated to help the witch look for her runes, Fenris made his way toward the window, content to let the mages get up to whatever ill-advised mischief they were planning far away from him.  When he’d arrived at Merrill’s dawn had barely broken, and even then some of the adults had been out beneath a tarp stretched between the branches of the great tree in the center of the Alienage, preparing fires and cutting vegetables for the feast to come.  Now that they’d been there over an hour, most of the elves had come to join the festivities, damp as they were.  The adults worked diligently roasting nuts or popping corn kernels in a large cast iron kettle to hand out to the restless children running around the limited dry space beneath the canvass.  A worn but finely carved chair sat in the middle of the tables and stalls, nearly a throne really, that everyone seemed to reverently avoid.  That must be where Anders was to hold court to hear these ‘Satinalia wishes’.  Fenris could only imagine that whatever these poor children wished for, it was unlikely Anders nor the Maker could grant it to them.

“Found them!”  Merrill exclaimed, her fist held high in the air and nearly bopping Anders in the nose.  Fenris watched Anders whisper into her ear, the blighted witch giggling all the while, and tried to calm the spikes of unease and perhaps a touch of jealousy as Anders came to join him.

“Well, are you ready to meet our adoring public?”  He asked, his smile drawn tight and revealing his own nerves.

“I… have not had many dealings with children.  However…” Fenris sighed and studied his gauntleted hand, sharp and foreboding.  Merrill had said it would be perfect.  “…I have had ample experience with being feared.”

“Hey,” The mage’s hand landed confidently on his fur and pine covered shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, “Kids like to be a little scared sometimes, and there’s no way you’d hurt them.  Kids can sense things like that.  I give them half an hour before they're making bets on who’s brave enough to pull that adorable tail of yours.” 

Of course Fenris knew he would never hurt them, it went without being said… but for some reason, hearing it affirmed so surely, as though he really weren’t the monster he’d been made to believe he was… something about it eased some of the tension from his frame.  The ‘adorable’ comment did not escape Fenris’ notice either.  His lips twitched.  “Pull the Dread Wolf’s tail?  I wager _you_ haven’t got the guts for such a dangerous venture.”  He met the mage’s eyes, striking emerald shining from the dark depths in challenge.

Anders quirked a brow.  “Is that so?”  Then, as Fenris had hopelessly _foolishly_ dreamed, the mage’s hand skimmed down the curve of his back, fingertips lightly brushing over his ass in a way Fenris dearly hoped wasn’t accidental as he grasped the furry tail and gently tugged.

A shiver ran down Fenris’ spine as a soft growl borne of equal parts playfulness and arousal escaped his lips.

The charged atmosphere sparking between them completely short circuited when Merrill popped up at the window in-between them, her arms slung over their shoulders as she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet.  “I’ve got the runes and I’m ready to go if you are!”

Anders threw him a questioning glance over Merrill’s head, which Fenris answered with a solemn nod.

 

* * *

 

Anders figured he probably should have been overcome with nerves at the prospect of faithfully portraying the Holy Bride of the Maker to a gaggle of impressionable youths, but all that seemed to be running through the mage’s mind was a constant mantra of _‘I touched his arse, I touched his arse, Sweet Maker I touched **Fenris’ arse** …’_  He could hardly be blamed though, what with Fenris looking far more handsome wearing a silly mask, bits of fur and half a tree than anyone had a right too.  And that wasn’t even to mention… the tail.  Seeing it there, so soft and fluffy, gently bouncing and swaying with the movement of Fenris’ taunt muscular little butt!  Despite his current wardrobe, Anders was still but a mortal man, he could only take so much temptation before he fell prey to it.  _What is it Merrill always says?  Let the Dread Wolf take you?  Mmmm don’t mind if I do._  

All in all, it was a less than auspicious start to his marriage to the Maker.

Regardless, it seemed their public awaited.  Though the adult elves seemed relatively unbothered by the restless children underfoot, he spied the thinning lips and tired eyes that begged for a blessed distraction for the children that would allow them to work in peace.  Anders had worn that expression many a time in his clinic in fact.  His head held high, he resolutely gathered up his skirts and followed Merrill and Fenris out a back entrance and down a narrow alley behind a row of houses to emerge near the gates of the Alienage, where they would make their grand entrance. 

Merrill gestured for his attention before they left the shadows and whispered in the ear he offered, “I’ll put the runes around like you said, then I’ll give you a signal.  This is so exciting!”  And just like that she was darting off down the alley to carry out his plan.  He’d never tried something like this on such a large scale, but with the amount of frost runes she’d found it should work.  In theory. 

Before he had any more time to worry about it, Fenris had stepped out of the darkness, a child had quickly spotted him, and suddenly the hoard was descending upon them.  Fenris froze ahead of him before quickly stepping back and bumping into him in his haste to flee.  Anders gently grasped the elf’s upper arms in a silent gesture of comfort.  Maker Fenris was _shaking_.  The mage whispered past the wolfy wooden ear and into Fenris’ own gracefully pointed one, “Just think of it as a battle.  We may be outnumbered, but between the two of us, we can take them.”  He smiled to hear the huff of laughter from behind the mask before Fenris took another step out to meet their attackers.

The children’s shrill screams of delight preceded them as they raced to great their Satinalia guests.  “Look they’re here!!!”  “It’s Lady Andraste!!!”  “The Dread Wolf too!”  “Don’t let him trick you!”  “Lady Andraste Lady Andraste!” 

Anders stepped forward to intercept, having more experience wrangling excitable children.  “Hap- ahem,” he coughed and quickly hitched his voice into falsetto as he realized that while his voice certainly wasn’t the lowest pitched of their group, it was still rather deep for a woman, “Happy Satinalia!”  He heard Fenris stifle a laugh, the bastard.

His vocal flub only seemed vaguely noticeable to a couple of the older kids, but for the most part his season’s greetings were returned with toothy grins and wide wonder-filled eyes.  It really was rather adorable.  “You aren’t as pretty as last year Lady Andrasde!”  That was… slightly less adorable.  An older girl, likely the young speaker’s sibling, slapped a hand over her brother’s grinning mouth, her eyes wide as she curtsied until the ragged ends of her dress touched the wet cobblestones.  “Appologies Lady Andraste.”  She murmured with a mortified blush.

“You are very lucky your sister has such good manners, otherwise the Dread Wolf may have eaten you up!”  Anders teased the little boy with a smile, eliciting gasps and giggles from the group. 

“Nuh uh!  The Dread Wolf don’t eat kids, he just plays tricks on ‘em!”  An older boy exclaimed with an unimpressed sneer.  He was a bit old for make believe by Anders’ estimation and it was clear he was going to be the troublemaker of the bunch.  “Besides, he don’t look too scary to me!  He ain’t even said nothin’!”

“It is very impolite to speak about someone as though they are not there.”  Fenris growled ominously, sending most of the younger children reeling back a step or two. 

The young Dread Wolf Detractor was not so easily thwarted however.  “Well ain’t you supposed to ask us if we been naughty or nice?”

“For _some_ children I do not need to ask.”

Anders couldn’t help the smirk that twitched to his lips at Fenris’ answer.  The boy’s courage seemed to be failing him, his strong words doing nothing to hide the increasingly worried furrow in his brow, “O-oh yeah?  Well- well if I _was_ naughty, what’er _you_ gonna do about it?!”

“He’ll play a trick on you Aelon!”  “Like the scarf trick!”  “Oooo ooooo do the scarf trick Mr. Dread Wolf!”  “Please!!!”

Anders could see Fenris shrinking in on himself as the children’s pleas grew in volume.  _What in the Void is a scarf trick?_  

“I- I do not-“ Fenris stammered, taking a step back.

“See, he don’t even know no tricks!  I told you the Dread Wolf ain’t real!”  Anders found a finger pointed squarely in his direction, “Neither’s Andraste!  There ain’t nobody that cares to give us presents, ‘specially a _shem_!"

Chaos erupted after the boy’s damning pronouncement.  Maker’s Balls some of them even started to cry!  He had been wrong, this was no battle, this was a blighted massacre!  Just when it looked like they would have to admit an embarrassingly early defeat, Anders caught a glimpse of Merrill waving at him from across the Alienage with a big grin on her face before flashing him two enthusiastic thumbs up.  Anders smirked.  _Here comes the Calvary_.  The mage blocked out the cacophony before him and focused on the location of the runes placed around the Alienage, feeling the cool tingling power weaving in and out of the fade.  All he had to do was keep weaving, helping the magic flow and join together to form a net across the sky-

Fenris gasped and threw a sharp look the mage’s way as his lyrium brands flared bright, a chill breeze rattled the mighty branches of the vhenadahl… and thick white flakes of snow replaced the rain still falling just outside the Alienage gate.

“Woooooow!!!!”  “Did you make it snow Lady Andraste?!”  “Nuh uh!  It was the Dread Wolf!  He was glowing!  Did you see?!”  “I saw him I saw!”  “See Aelon!  The Dread Wolf made it snow to make you look foolish!  Didn’t you Dread Wolf?!” 

Anders coughed violently as Fenris predictably began to shake his head.  Of course he would deny any connection to magic even if it was about to save his hide!  Anders met his eyes behind the fearsome mask and gave him a significant look.  _Come on Fenris, I gave us an out, **use** it!_

“I- ah- _yes_.”  He seemed simultaneously overwhelmed and bolstered by the chorus of cheers, which Anders privately thought to be rather adorable.  Fenris stood up straighter and continued with growing confidence, “I perform my tricks only at _my_ whim, not at the whim of naughty little boys.”  The boy in question cowered as Fenris slowly approached and reached toward him with a wickedly sharp gauntlet.  “I play tricks on naughty children when the mood suits me,” he said smoothly and reached behind the boy’s ear to pull a shiny copper seemingly out of thin air, the coin flashing in the light and eliciting ooo’s and ahhh’s from their captive audience, “And sometimes I even reward polite children… when the mood suits me.” Fenris gave a flourishing bow and dropped the copper in the hand of the well-mannered sister of the boy who’d earlier spoken out of turn.  Anders could fairly see the hearts in the flustered girl's eyes as Fenris straightened to his full height once more and coolly strode toward the courtyard, seemingly unconcerned with whether or not ‘Andraste’ or the children followed.  They were the same hearts swimming in his own fool gaze.  Anders quickly found himself left behind as the group of children, even the formerly naughty Aelon, ran after their new hero with bright smiles and laughter ringing in the frosted air.  He smiled and followed.

After the initial near catastrophe in the beginning, the rest of the day went rather smoothly.  Fenris was baffled to find himself the star of the festivities, his popularity cemented once the children managed to cajole him into playing tag.  Any doubts as to the Dread Wolf’s authenticity were put to rest when Fenris activated his markings and flashed about the courtyard to evade the laughing children’s reach.  Anders found himself thoroughly distracted more than once, sometimes with a kid actively sitting on his lap, by the sound of Fenris’ rumbling laugh amidst the children’s squeals of mirth, or watching him perform his coin trick for a little boy who’d fallen and skinned his knee.  There was no more denying he was hopelessly in love with the blighted elf. 

Aside from earth shattering personal realizations, Anders was kept busy in his own right.  Once Fenris had dutifully determined that all the children had been sufficiently nice, they queued up to sit on the lap of Andraste to pass on their dearest Satinalia wish.  It was both incredibly cute and acutely heartbreaking in turns.  More than one child asked that their family had more money, or food, or toys, or in one case, a mabari puppy.  Others asked that sick relatives would get well.  Anders made sure to take note of their names and faces in order to pay them a visit as the plain old Darktown healer once this was over.  Some elves still didn’t trust word of mouth enough to entrust a ‘shem’ with their well-being, which Anders could understand, but he would try to help them here if they would let him.  The most heartbreaking request had been a young girl who’d asked that her sister could come home from the gallows, that the Maker make her not be a mage anymore.  All he could do was tell her that mages are the Maker’s children too, that he had made her sister special by giving her the gift of magic, that the Maker loved her, and that he would… see what he could do.  It was all he could do to hold Justice back as the spirit sent a powerful surge of purpose rushing through him.  They still had so much work to do.

At the sun’s highest point the feast was ready.  It was an impressive spread, no doubt thanks in large part to the money Merrill had won from them the night before, and many of the Alienage’s residents young and old seemed eager to dig into what might well be the best meal they’d enjoy that year.  The druffalo shank had been spit roasted to perfection, and a handful of rabbits, game birds and the customary nug made for more than enough meat for everyone.  Merrill had been in charge of a vegetable soup that actually wasn’t half bad, though she claimed it had been easy because it was just like making a potion, so naturally Fenris refused to touch it.  The tables were lined with roasted squash and mashed root vegetables, fresh baked bread and butter, and an impressive array of fruit pies rounded out dessert. 

As night fell and Satina took flight, the Alienage filled with lantern light and song.  Chantry songs praising the Maker and telling the story of his Holy Bride, silly children’s songs about heroic little mabari, and beautiful songs Anders had never heard, sung in elvish the singers likely didn’t even understand half of as they called out to their Gods and the Creators that made them.  It was truly a beautiful thing to behold, and as he stood beside Fenris and heard one of the elven songs in a soft flowing baritone, Anders was certain there was nowhere else he would rather be in the entire world.  He didn’t care who saw them as the Lady Andraste tentatively took the Dread Wolf’s hand.  All that mattered was the fact that Fenris squeezed his hand back.

 

* * *

 

At long last they made their exit to much fan fair from the elven children.  Fenris never would have thought he would enjoy himself even half as much as he had, but as he waved at the boys and girls he’d laughed and played games with, children he now knew by name, he found himself a bit sad to leave.  More powerful than his sadness was his exhaustion however, and the mage didn’t seem to be fairing much better.  Bags were forming under his eyes and his shining golden hair was now mussed beneath the circlet sitting askew atop his head.  In fact they were probably leaving just in time, as it looked like his facial hair was making a raging comeback.  The hectic day had reduced Anders to a ragged and scruffy man with smudged makeup, slouching pitifully in a woman’s frock, and damn it all if Fenris _still_ didn’t want him as much as he ever did.  Remembering the soft kind way he’d spoken to the children he held so carefully on his lap as he listened to dreams that would likely never come true, Fenris wagered he wanted Anders more than ever.  A blush rose to his ears, thankfully tucked behind his mask, as he remembered the treasured warmth of Anders’ hand in his while they sang together.  Anders had reached for him, does that mean, could that mean-

“Bloody sodding- Fenris, would you help me get out of these clothes?!”

Fenris nearly choked as his train of thought crashed head first into Anders’ innocent request.  As the mage shamelessly flipped his skirts up and revealed his smalls to all and sundry to pull on some trousers, Fenris decided that wearing the mask might be a bit gratuitous at this point.  He quickly removed his gauntlets and pulled the mask and attached fur cowl over his head and set it on Merrill’s table, sighing in sweet relief as the cool air hit his face.

“You’ve no I idea how much it bloody chafes to wear a dress!  _I_ had no idea!  Maker’s _Balls_!”  The mage looked up from his cursing and began chuckling at Fenris.

“What?”  He quirked a dark eyebrow at the snickering mage, “What is so funny?”

“You!  I mean, your hair!  It’s-“ he made a vague gesture above his head as though there had been some sort of explosion.  “Just- oh just come here!”  He seemed to be struggling desperately to keep a straight face.  Before Fenris could decide whether or not to humor the mage, Anders had crossed the space between them, and suddenly his fingers were running through his hair, gentle and warm and perfect.  He distantly knew his hair had to be a mess of tangles and sweat after having been trapped beneath the mask and fur cowl, but Anders didn’t seem to mind in the slightest as he carefully straightened the wayward locks into place.  Fenris found himself leaning into the touch without conscious thought.

He hadn’t realized his eyes had slid closed until Anders gasped and they fluttered open to meet his honey brown gaze.  “Hmm?”  Fenris hummed, feeling strangely unconcerned with anything that didn’t involve the bliss of Anders’ fingers carding softly through his hair.  Maker Anders had never touched him so much as he was doing now.

“I didn’t know these were here.”  He whispered with something akin to reverence as his thumb gently brushed against the three lyrium dots on the elf’s forehead. 

Fenris shrugged a shoulder.  “They are usually covered.”

“By your hair, yeah…” the mage trailed off, seemingly fascinated, before leaning forward and brushing his lips across the tiny marks.  Fenris gasped, his racing heart skipping a beat before rapidly bringing a flush to his entire face.  Unfortunately the quick intake of breath seemed to wake Anders from whatever pleasant dream they were sharing.  He quickly yanked his hands away as though the elf’s heated blush had burnt him.  “I- shit- I’m sorry!  It’s been a- a long day and I- oh bollocks- there’s lipstick- I- _shit_!”

Fenris hastily looked away from Anders’ stricken expression and blindly grabbed the towel the mage had used earlier from the floor to fiercely scrub at his forehead.  Whatever had possessed Anders to show him such affection, whatever blessed reason Anders had for making his heart so light he felt like he could fly, whatever it had been… it was clear he regretted it now.  “Yes a-“ he cleared his throat of the blasted fool emotion clogging it, “A long day indeed.”

A stilted laugh sounded from somewhere across the wide expanse that seemed to have sprung up between them in Merrill’s cramped living quarters.  Fenris tightened his grip on the towel and wondered how he could meet Anders’ eyes now, knowing he wouldn’t find his feelings reflected in them.  Luckily when he finally chanced a look, Anders was thoroughly occupied with twisting and turning his way to reaching the lacing on his corset, and not having much luck at it.  Wondering when he became a masochist, Fenris placed one hand on the struggling mage’s back and one on his synched in waist to still him.  “Would-“ he breathed deep and forced his shaking hands to still, “Would you like some help?”

“I… thanks.”  Anders whispered faintly.  Fenris carefully pulled the bow loose and smiled softly when the garment began shifting open, allowing the mage to take what Fenris suspected was a bit of an exaggerated breath, followed by a somewhat obscene moan.  “Ah that is _good_!  Remind me never to wear a corset again!”

“The next time the desire overtakes you I shall try to talk sense into you.”  He smirked and shook his head fondly.  “Not to say that has ever worked before.”

“Well, if I get this sort of attention afterward maybe-“ he panted and groaned in pleasure as Fenris tugged more slack into the lacing, “Maybe I should wear then more often?”

Fenris’ hands stilled as a frown overtook his features.  What was the meaning of this?  Anders had made his revulsion plain when he’d impulsively kissed him, had always pulled away in the face of Fenris' flirtation, and then he turns around and says something that could not be interpreted as anything _but_ flirtation!  “Anders…” he sighed, the thumb on the hand still stabilizing the mage’s waist lightly caressing in a way that was anything but necessary for the task at hand, “I-“

“Sorry I’m late!”  The words shriveled and died in Fenris’ throat as Merrill burst through the door.  “I was helping pack up the food when we all got to talking about you two and how well you did!  The children just loved you!  We all want you both to play the parts next year and… oh… did I interrupt something?”

He couldn’t imagine why the witch was standing there blushing furiously as though she’d just walked in on them having sex… until he took in there positions; Anders bent at the waist with his arm braced against the wall and panting like the Rose’s finest, Fenris standing close behind him, _very_ close, his hand on the mage’s waist and grunting with effort- Vishante kaffas!  Fenris nearly tripped over a kitchen chair in his haste to put some distance between them. 

Anders seemed to be of the same mind as he plastered himself awkwardly against the wall, only to realize how absurd he must have looked, and turned to glare at the intruder instead.  Never mind that she had intruded in her own house.  “N-no!  He was just helping me get this blighted corset off!”

Merrill smiled sweetly.  “Oh… oh!  No wait!  You’ve still got to wear your costumes to give out the presents!”

Fenris frowned and crossed his arms.  “Aren’t the children meant to be asleep?  Why should it matter?”

“What if they wake up and see you?!”

Anders huffed and gathered the skirt of his dress to unceremoniously stuff through the bottom loosened corset laces, forming an awkward sort of bustle and exposing his trousers and boots.  “Then they’ll just have to find out that Andraste is a bloody trendsetter!”  He grabbed the bag of toys and goodies that had been prepared and slung it over his shoulder.  “Come on Fenris, let’s get this over with!”

Fenris blinked at the door as it swung shut and followed without question.  He caught up to the mage’s longer strides quickly enough and walked beside him in silence until they reached the first house.  Luckily they were expected and so the door was unlocked.  Not that it would have stopped Fenris, but it was the principal of the thing.  Upon seeing the chipped plate holding three slightly lopsided teacakes beside a child’s hand written note saying ‘Thank yu Andrasde!’ Anders’ chilly mood began to thaw.  He smiled softly and began rifling through the bag for an orange and a crocheted doll one of the mothers in the Alienage had made as her project for the holiday.  His features screwed up in concentration as he reached deeper into the sack and carefully shifted its contents.  “Hrgh, Fenris I- I can’t- could you grab my nuts- THE nuts- fucking _knickerweasels_!”

“Language my Lady Andraste.”  He chided softly, a wicked smile on his lips.  Anders blushed like a blighted maiden.  Fenris drew his prize from the bag and placed it in Anders’ outstretched hand.  “Your nuts mage.”

“Oh shut up!”  He hissed, trying desperately not to break into laughter.  Finally satisfied with the offerings, he smiled and offered the small cup of mulled wine the child’s parents had undoubtedly left to Fenris. 

The elf held up his hand.  “I think you need it more than I.”

Anders smirked.  “Well, I did _really_ want that blighted corset off!”  He threw the drink back with a flourish.  “You’d better have some cookies though!”

Fenris smirked and picked up a powdered sugar covered tea cake.  “Cheers.”  Anders chuckled and tapped a cookie of his own to Fenris’ treat, a light dusting of powdered sugar falling softly and mirroring the snow outside.

“Anders, how did you make it snow today?  I have never seen you do something like that before in battle.”  Fenris whispered.

“I thought the Dread Wolf did it.”  Anders replied with a grin.  He laughed at Fenris’ dryly raised eyebrow.  “It’s a modified barrier spell, very pretty but not too intimidating to slavers and Tal-Vashoth.  I had Merrill place frost runes around the Alienage that I used to infuse the barrier, then it was just a matter of making it _just_ thin enough to keep the effect contained while allowing the rain to pass through it and freeze.”

“That sounds… complicated.”  He admitted, reluctantly impressed.  “And yet you gave me credit.” 

Fenris met Anders’ eyes for the first time since they entered the house, allowing him to witness the warmth seeming to radiate from the golden pools when he smiled that smile at him, _their_ smile.  “I didn’t want you have to spend another day being feared.”

He had to look away, lest Anders see the moisture gathering in his eyes.  “Thank you.”  Fenris breathed.

Anders mercifully chose to ignore Fenris’ emotional upheaval as he went about tying up the sack in preparation to move on to the next house.  “So where did you learn that coin trick?”  He asked casually as he began to walk toward the door. 

Fenris smiled softly and followed.  “When I was with the Fog Warriors.  There was an elder, a retired warrior who'd gone nearly blind in his old age, that entertained the children with little tricks like that.  He taught me…”

 

* * *

 

By the last house they had consumed roughly 25 cookies each and… entirely too much wine.  Not enough to make either of them _drunk_ , but more than enough to loosen their inhibitions more than Anders’ corset.  Suddenly they were breaking out into giggles each time their fingers brushed when reaching inside the now nearly empty sack.  The blighted candied nuts were best not mentioned.  They also seemed to be gravitating closer and closer with each whispered conversation, which is how they found themselves as they stood before a modest fireplace with yet another glass of wine and plate of cookies balanced atop the narrow mantle.  Soft strands of Anders’ firelight golden hair brushed tantalizingly against Fenris' forehead as he hissed with insistence that Fenris should have the last glass of wine, since he’d had the first.  All Fenris could focus on was the soft brush of sensation against the lyrium dots… the same place Anders had softly brushed his lips.  Fenris made eye contact and didn’t break it as he took a drink, then passed the glass to Anders.  The mage smirked and finished off the last of the wine, then picked up a cookie for a last ‘toast’.  “Fenris- we… we did a good thing today.  I’m glad we did this together.”

“As am I.”  Fenris whispered as he tapped his cookie with Anders’.  “So does that mean you will take Merrill up on her request to reprise your role?”

“Depends.”  He answered before popping the his tea cake in his mouth.

The elf swallowed a chuckle along with the remains of his cookie.  “On?”

Anders gazed at him with hooded honey colored eyes and leaned forward ever so slightly until their foreheads nearly touched, “On if you’ll be reprising _your_ role.”

There was little doubt Anders was flirting with him, unfortunately Fenris hadn’t heard a word, being far too concerned with the dusting of powdered sugar clinging to the mage’s full bottom lip as he spoke.  His hand was cradling Anders’ jaw to wipe the sugar away with his thumb before he realized he’d done it.  Anders’ eyes briefly flew open in shock, though his lashes seemed to grow heavy just as quickly as he sighed blissfully and leaned into the touch.  Fenris idly ran his thumb along the scratchy surface of the human’s chin, a sound akin to a purr rumbling from his chest at the pleasing sensation.  The action smeared sugar all over the mage’s chin as Fenris completely forgot his purpose in the first place, though he couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.  “Your beard is coming back.  I missed it.”  He whispered.  As though it were a secret, a confession.

Anders laughed softly and reveled in the caress.  “Yeah, it grows back pretty quickly.  We’re lucky I was able to go most of the day without it showing.  Wouldn’t want a scratchy Andraste.”  Maker was what he was saying even making sense anymore?  It was so hard to concentrate with Fenris touching him like that… looking at him like that.

“Perhaps I like my Andrastes scratchy.”  It was the sort of punch-drunk foolishness the lovesick characters in Varric’s serials would utter, but Maker help him, he had no plans to shut up, as he knew he should, with Anders looking at him… smiling for him.

“Fen…” Anders said on a shuttering breath, entirely too close to kissing the elf senseless.

“Come home with me Anders.  Have a nightcap with me.”  That was what they did after games.  They drank.  They talked.  They fell deeper and deeper…

“I… I don’t think I need another drink.”

“Dinner then.”

The mage laughed softly, brightly, beautifully.  “I’ve had nearly thirty cookies!”

Fenris frowned slightly and slid his hand along Anders’ jaw to tangle in his silken hair.  Red, gold, perfect _perfect_.  “ _Breakfast_ then.”

“B-breakfast?  You mean… you want me to come back-“

“No.”

Anders blinked, a vivid crimson painting his cheeks far better than any cosmetic.  “…oh.”

“ _Oh_.”  Fenris agreed, emerald eyes lidded and searching, _hoping_.

A smile brighter than the sun dawned across Anders’ features, and suddenly there were lips pressed to his, fingers in his hair, a hand on his hip pulling him closer.  Anders' kiss was like nothing he’d ever dared to imagine, and more than he’d ever dared dream for.  It was everything, _he_ was everything.  Fenris’ fingers tightened their hold in the mage’s hair as his tongue darted out to deepen the kiss.  In that glorious moment, Fenris’ world narrowed down to the wet heat of Anders’ tongue sliding against his, his mage’s taste filling his senses, sugar and wine and Anders Anders _Anders_ …

At some point Anders must have remembered their need to breathe, being the clever healer he was, and pulled away with great gasping breaths peppered with airy laughs of joy and disbelief.  “Fen- Fenris, I never thought- so all that time, you really _were_ flirting with me?”

A soft bark of laughter rushed past Fenris’ kiss swollen lips, his fingers idly toying with Anders’ hair as he replied.  “So all this time you were not as completely oblivious as you appeared?”  He teased with a fond smirk.

“Not _completely_.  I just…” he tenderly stroked Fenris’ cheek, looking for all the world like he feared he was about to wake from a dream, “I never let myself hope...”

“Isn’t that what Satinalia is all about?  Hope… that things might be different?”

“ _Better_.”  He whispered, and Fenris finally understood what that special smile meant as Anders gave it to him now, so full of warmth and affection and… and perhaps he had been the oblivious one after all.

.

.

.

 

“Mama I swear!!!!!  I heard a noise and I got up and I _saw_ them!  I saw Andraste and the Dread Wolf _kissing_!!!”

“You were just having a dream dalen.”

“But Mama I _saaaaw_ them!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I didn't have much time to proof read this one, so I might be making small changes and corrections in the future, but I really wanted to get this out by Christmas. Please let me know if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes that my quick edit may have missed!


End file.
